


An Investigation into Seasonal Bonding Rituals

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Comment Fic, Community: sassy_otp, Gen, M/M, Sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is Sam's Secret Santa and has no idea what to get him, or entirely understand the concept. He asks Dean for help... Written for a Sassy commentfic meme over on lj.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Investigation into Seasonal Bonding Rituals

Dean feels that he is in _no way at all_ to blame, since the whole stupid Secret Santa thing was Sam’s idea in the first place. They were tucked away safe from the elements at Bobby’s house in early December when Sam got the idea. Ellen and Jo were there, and Sam looked up at the ceiling and said “Chuck, I’m putting your name in too, so pay attention.”

“Remember, everyone,” though Dean knew Sam was mainly speaking to Cas, who had a bemused expression on his face (and, like all of his other expressions, it had a serious thread of dire urgency running through it), “the whole point is to do something nice for the person on your piece of paper _without_ them knowing.”

Castiel had nodded, and solemnly taken a folded piece of paper out of one of Bobby’s hats (the red ‘yell at the Winchesters’ hat). Castiel unfolded the paper, holding it close in cupped hands, and then quietly tucked it into the pocket of his coat.

“We meet back here for Christmas, and in the meantime, we fulfil our roles as Secret Santa to the best of our abilities.”

Dean was surprised that Sammy didn’t make them all link pinkies and _promise_. He looked down at his own piece of paper. He had Ellen. Dean was pretty certain this would all lead to trouble.

*

“Dean,” Cas said, appearing behind Dean and he was shaving and scaring the bejesus out of him. “I am in need of your assistance.”

“Freaking hell, Cas, don’t do that while I’m holding a freaking blade to my _skin_.”

“I apologise,” Castiel said, without looking particularly apologetic.

“Whatever,” Dean said, wiping at his neck with toilet paper. “What is it? Demons? Signs? Lucifer sighting?”

“It is Sam.”

Dean locked eyes with Cas in the mirror. “Sammy? What, has he gone darkside again? Is he in trouble?”

“I am struggling with my assignment.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. “Assignment?”

“For the act of Secret Santa.”

Dean used his best ‘you have got to be kidding me’ face on the angel, and was a little annoyed that it seemed to have no effect. “Look, it’s not a big deal. It’s just Sam wanting to do the big girly thing and pretend that we’re all a nice normal family.”

“The illusion of normalcy as a reward has been a very important motivator for your brother,” Castiel replied. “And, like you, he views little as being more important than his family.”

Dean looked at Castiel, all blue eyes and worry and a kind of endearing desperation to do something right. And, Dean had to admit, he had a pretty good handle on Sam. “Alright, fine, I’ll help. Who’d you pull out of the hat?”

Castiel reached into his trench coat and pulled out the same folded piece of paper he’d put there a week before, and pressed it into Dean’s waiting hand. Dean opened it out, and staring back at him in Sam’s handwriting was the name ‘Sam W’. As if there had been multiple Sam’s and he was worried someone would get confused.

Dean let his mind work for a moment, and then he smiled. “So, Cas, how much do you really _get_ about this whole Secret Santa thing?”

“I understand the broad concept,” Castiel replied.

“So, could you give me an example of the kind of thing you’d do for Sammy?” Castiel remained silent. “Don’t worry,” Dean said, picking up his razor. “I’ll be more help than you could possibly need.”

*

Sam held the opinion that the Secret Santa was the best idea he’d had all year. He’d gotten a call from Ellen, asking vague questions about four people involved, because she was sneaky and unwilling to give away her recipient. He got a text from Chuck asking for Bobby’s specific address, so he could mail his gift off. Dean was actually walking around smiling, despite the cold. And an e-mail turned up in Sam’s inbox (addressed to Dean, who never checked his own e-mail) from Sekrit.Santa.Baby@gmail.com. As well as a tip for keeping witches away, it included the password to the account, and soon all of them were sending and receiving articles that may be of help, links to good reference sites, and youtube videos that had gone viral.

Sam didn’t get any e-mails from the account, but he had fun reading Dean’s.

In fact, Sam hadn’t received much attention yet, which pretty much just let him know that his Secret Santa probably wasn’t Jo (he was sure that the e-mail account was her idea). But he was still enjoying the season. For some reason, the thick, black diner coffee that Dean drank by the gallon was tasting sweeter, a little more nutty and a little less burnt. At one diner the waitress actually came over and let him know that she’d made a caramel latte by mistake, and would that be okay?

Sam hadn’t had a caramel latte in over a _year_.

And every hotel room that they stayed at must have recently had new water heaters installed, because the hot water never ran out. And, for the first time in his adult life, Sam could flop down with his head on a pillow and not have to worry about his feet hanging off the end of a bed.

Then the gifts started.

When he blindly reached out to grab the cheap motel shampoo off the counter, he encountered a large bottle instead. Wiping the water out of his eyes, he looked at the bottle of Revlon strength-and-shine shampoo. There was a note attached, getting rained on by the shower spray, that read “Because you’re worth it”.

The handwriting wasn’t Dean’s, but Sam knew he had to be involved.

The shampoo was pretty good though.

*

Dean had only done a Secret Santa once before, at school. He’d explained to Cas that the idea was that you did nice things for someone. You helped them out in little ways, you left them presents, and at the end of it, if the person you were stuck being nice to hadn’t figured out that you were the one doing it, you won.

“And is winning important?”

“Winning is _always_ important.”

“I see.”

*

Sam found a block of chocolate crammed in his duffel. Written across the wrapper was “But you are sweet enough already”. A book that he hadn’t been able to find in any library for years arrived at the motel in an Amazon.com box. Sam checked later. Amazon didn’t stock it.

His Secret Santa definitely wasn’t Dean. Dean didn’t have that much forethought, sensitivity, and the notes were definitely not Dean’s style of humour. He wondered if maybe Bobby had teamed up with Jo, and roped Dean into helping them. It seemed a little elaborate, but then Sam thought of Bobby’s panic room. The hunter certainly didn’t seem to have any problem with being elaborate when he was bored enough.

He’d have to make some rules about teamwork next time.

*

“Hello Dean, Sam.” Dean jumped just enough to knock his coffee over the edge of the table. Castiel watched it fall to the ground and the contents splash over his shoe. Then he turned his attention back to the brothers, and his shoe was suddenly clean and dry. “I hope you are both keeping well.”

Dean scooted over on his side of the bench, making room for Cas to sit beside him. “This a social call?”

“I felt it would be wise to check up on you both. This can be a dangerous time of year.”

Sam’s ears perked up. “Because of the winter solstice.”

“I was referring to the erratic behaviour of road users,” Castiel replied. “Your hair is looking well, Sam.”

Dean snorted into his pie, and Sam shot him a glare. “Thank you, I guess. Did you want a drink or anything?”

“No.” After a pause, Castiel added, “but thank you for offering.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. “The coffee here is great.” He pushed his mug towards Cas. It had froth on it and everything. “Here, try mine.”

As he did every time he consumed something new, Castiel regarded the cup of coffee for a long moment, as if examining it atom by atom, before lifting it up with both hands and taking a cautious sip. He held the coffee in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing.

“It tastes... different. Sweet.”

Sam was already waving to the waitress for another cup. “You like it, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “The flavour is enjoyable.”

“So, angels like sweet things? I mean, the only other angels we’ve met who eat seem to have a sweet tooth.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied. “I have not asked every angel of their preferences. I am sure there are many of them who have never consumed.” Castiel looked up at Sam, who had deflated somewhat. “But I like it.”

Sam grinned. “Alright then. Good.”

Castiel left as soon as he had finished Sam’s coffee, and Dean stared at his brother with a smirk stretched across his face.

“What?”

“What was that all about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Filling Cas up with sugar. The way you were looking at him as he drank, I was thinking I should slip away and get someone to send some candles and a dude playing a violin over.”

“Shut up,” Sam replied. “He just doesn’t eat much, okay? I was curious.”

“Right.”

“What? You don’t find it interesting? A dude who has been hanging around in heaven since the dawn of time comes down to Earth, and you don’t want to ask him what he likes about it?”

“I certainly don’t stare at him like he’s a hot chick while I do it,” Dean replied, motioning for the bill.

“Your account's already been paid, sweetie,” the waitress called over. “You two have a Merry Christmas, alright?”

“You too, Ma’am,” Dean replied.

*

All of Sam’s socks and underwear had been replaced with new pairs. And while he appreciated the gesture (a _lot_ ) it was also a little... creepy. You just don’t go around messing with a guys underpants.

Sam was getting a new bottle of mouth wash every second day. He’d noticed that he suddenly didn’t have to deal with Dean’s backwash despite hearing Dean spit back into his bottle every night (Dean had some _filthy_ habits). He’d put a little mark on the label with pen, and the next morning, it was gone. While Sam enjoyed not having to deal with Dean’s cooties, it was still weird.

*

“Cas, _quit it_.”

Sam emerged from the bathroom to find Dean sitting on his bed, making vague swatting motions at Castiel, who was seated at the small table across the room.

“I don’t know what you are referring to, Dean.”

“Quit poking around inside my head,” Dean snapped. “And don’t give me that look, I _know_ when you’re doing it.”

Sam looked over at Castiel, who didn’t have a look of innocence plastered on his face, nor did he look particularly guilty. Castiel Met Sam’s gaze, and said hello.

“You two can have fun gossiping and painting your nails. I’m grabbing a shower.”

“Is there some great significance to applying paint to nails?” Castiel asked as Sam stuffed his dirty clothes into his duffel.

“It’s a bonding ritual,” Sam replied. “Applying paint to your finger and toe nails as a kind of tribalism. You should do it with Dean sometime.”

“I see,” Castiel replied with a serious nod.

“So what were you poking around in Dean’s head for?”

Castiel, despite not shifting or changing expression in any significant way, looked a little uncomfortable. “I wanted to know more about Christmas.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

Castiel pinned Sam with a very intense gaze. “There are times when I doubt the accuracy of the information that is communicated with me.” Sam suddenly felt guilty about the nail polish explanation, and licked his lips. “I have found it useful to verify information by accessing it directly.”

“So, what, you can just read people’s minds?”

Castiel’s eyes travelled over Sam’s face, and Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “It is not reading in a sense that you would understand. Christmas is an amalgamation of ceremonies and rituals that has been increasingly secularised and stripped of religious significance.”

It took Sam a while to catch up, to realise that Castiel had apparently pulled that out of his head. “Yes,” he said at last. “Like the tree, and Santa Claus, and the food traditions. They come from a variety of different cultures. We kind of just take the fun bits and ignore the rest.”

Castiel stared at Sam for another long moment. Sam wondered how Dean handled it so well, because Cas... Cas was intense. And whenever Castiel got like that around Sam – looked at him with those blue eyes, and those lips of his pursed slightly, and his hair all messy – Sam had a habit of doing something stupid, _anything_ just to break the tension. Break it before he did something really stupid.

“And this ‘Secret Santa’,” Castiel said at last. “Are you enjoying that?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s a challenge, knowing what to get someone or what to do for them. Wondering what everyone else is doing.” Sam licked his lips again. He had a horrible feeling that Castiel was still inside his head, unravelling him. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied seriously.

Dean’s voice came belting out of the bathroom, the phrase _“You... shook me allll niiiight loooong,”_ bouncing off the walls. Sam turned to frown at the bathroom door, and when he turned back, Castiel was gone.

Dean stopped singing immediately after.

*

They got to Bobby’s the day after Christmas. Their job just wasn’t a great one for getting holiday time off. Jo and Ellen had gotten there two days earlier, and Bobby’s house was looking almost festive, with tinsel wrapped around the piles of books and draped over the clutter of papers. Jo had made a Christmas tree out of pillows, jumpers, and hats. She’d printed out a picture of an angel (Sam recognised it as a painting of Michael), taped the paper into a cone shape, and planted it on top.

Dean unveiled his arts and crafts side by cutting out a speech bubble, writing “I am a douchebag,” on it, and taping it to Michael’s mouth.

“We saved you some pizza,” Ellen said. “Mainly ‘cause we couldn’t finish it all.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Sam replied, and almost smacked straight into Castiel when he walked through to the kitchen.

“I apologise for being late,” Castiel said. “I did not realise the date was in December.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said. “We’re going to exchange the main presents in about two hours, so everyone has time to wrap them.”

Castiel nodded, and blinked out again. Though he didn’t go far, judging by Dean’s exclamation of “God _damnit_ , Cas!” from upstairs.

*

Dean had gotten Ellen a gift voucher for a lingerie store. Ellen gave Dean a whack over the head for that, but there was a smile on her lips.

There was a parcel addressed to Jo, from Chuck, with a thank you note to Bobby for the whiskey that he would eventually send to Chuck.

“Damn prophets,” Bobby muttered.

Jo’s present was three of the Supernatural books, which she fell upon with glee. Dean and Sam shared a dark look. They would be having words with Chuck, when they next came across him.

Sam handed Dean his present – a box of condoms, a packet of crispy m&ms, and a ‘do not disturb’ sign.

“Dude, crispy?”

Sam shrugged. “They were out of peanut.” Dean shook his head in mock disappointment.

Castiel – who had been sitting quietly on the floor between Ellen and Jo, handed a small parcel to Ellen, who passed it to Dean, who passed it to Sam. It was wrapped in white paper, and had a gold bow on it. One made out of ribbon. It was actually bigger than the parcel itself.

Sam tore it open, and found a key ring inside. It was shaped like a licence plate, and had ‘SAMMY’ printed on it. Dad had given Sam one just like it (and Dean one to match) when Sam was... eight, maybe? He’d lost it somewhere along the road, and always kind of secretly blamed Dean for its disappearance. Whenever he saw a vanity plate, it reminded him of that stupid key ring, a cheap souvenir from one of Dad’s hunts.

“I was told that they were only sold in San Francisco,” Castiel said. And that was what Dad had told Sam, all those years ago. “Though I acquired one much closer.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, his voice a little hoarse. “It’s great.”

The last present was for Cas, from Ellen.

“I am giving you two very important things,” she said. “They will both prove to be integral to your survival as a hunter.” One was a black scarf, wide, and made of thick material rather than knitted wool. Ellen carefully explained how to use it as a sling, as bandages, as a rucksack. “And,” she said, looping it around Castiel’s neck, “it even keeps out the cold.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said sincerely.

“And this is the next thing, this is a skill that only few hunters know, and you must vow to use this art to ensure peace, harmony, and a minimum of stupid ideas.”

Castiel nodded. “I vow.”

Ellen reached out one arm, angled it carefully, and gave Dean a mighty slap upside the back of his head.

“ _Hey!_ ”

Ellen nodded at Castiel. “Now, you try.”

Sam couldn’t help laughing as Dean shot to his feet and bolted to stand behind the couch, eyeing his angel warily. Castiel regarded Dean with a look that said he was merely biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to practise this new technique.

Sam liked that look on Castiel’s face, a little scheming, almost playful. And then Castiel looked over at Sam, his head tilted a little to one side, a softness to his expression that was almost a smile. Sam felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle, and he thought _thank you_ as hard as he could, the key ring clutched tightly in his hand, the loop threaded over his thumb.

Castiel’s mouth turned up at the corner, practically a grin for the angel, and Sam beamed at him in response.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” Castiel said, in that gruff, warm voice of his.

“Alright, alright,” Dean yelled from across the room. “Either break those two up or hang some mistletoe over them.”

Castiel cut his eyes over to Dean, who yelped, and then back at Sam.

“Did you cover him in mistletoe?” Sam asked.

“No,” Castiel replied. “But I believe I have achieved a deeper bond with Dean, through the application of paint to his finger and toe nails.”

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Sam replied.


End file.
